- Invitation Status
- Looking for partners
- Posting Speed
- 1-3 posts per week
- Writing Levels
- Beginner
- Elementary
- Intermediate
- Adept
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Genres
- fantasy, scifi, horror, magical, drama
Narrator from The Stanley Parable, especially the Apartment Ending
After arriving in the apartment: "Hahahahahaha, Got-cha! Oh, come on. Did you actually think you had a loving wife? Who'd want to commit their life to you? I'm trying to make a point here, Stanley, I'm trying to get you to see something. Come inside. Let me show you what's really going on here."
If you walk away from the apartment: A wall rises to block you. "Sorry, but you're in my story now."
When you enter the apartment: "This is a very sad story about the death of a man named Stanley. Stanley is quite a boring fellow. He has a job that demands nothing of him, and every button that he pushes is a reminder of the inconsequential nature of his existence. Look at him there, pushing buttons, doing exactly what he's told to do. Now, he's pushing a button. Now, he's eating lunch. Now, he's going home; now, he's coming back to work. One might even feel sorry for him, except that he's chosen this life. But in his mind - ah, in his mind he can go on fantastic adventures. From behind his desk, Stanley dreamed of wild expeditions into the unknown, fantastic discoveries of new lands. It was wonderful. And each day that he returned to work was a reminder that none of it would ever happen to him.
And so he began to fantasize about his own job. First he imagined that one day, while at work, he stepped up from his desk to realize that all of his co-workers, his boss, everyone in the building, had suddenly vanished off the face of the Earth. The thought excited him terribly. So, he went further. He imagined that he came to two open doors, and that he could go through either. At least, choice! It barely even mattered what lay behind each door - the mere thought that his decisions would mean something was almost too wonderful to behold.
As he wandered through this fantasy world, he began to fill it with many possible paths and destinations. Down one path lay an enormous round room with monitors and mind controls, and down another was a yellow line that weaved in many directions, and down another was a game with a baby. And he called it, The Stanley Parable. It was such a wonderful fantasy, and so in his head, he relived it again, and then again, and again, over and over, wishing beyond hope that it would never end, that he would always feel this free. Surely there's an answer down some new path - mustn't there be? Perhaps if he played just one more time.
But there is no answer. How could there possibly be? In reality, all he's doing is pushing the same buttons he always has. Nothing has changed. The longer he spends here the more invested he gets, the more he forgets which life is the real one. And I'm trying to tell him this: that in this world he can never be anything but an observer. That as long as he remains here he's slowly killing himself. But he won't listen to me. He won't stop. Here, watch this. Stanley, the next time the screen asks you to push a button, do not do it.
You can refuse to push the button, but nothing happens until you push it.
You see? Can he just not hear me? How can I tell him in a way that he'll understand that every second he remains here, he's electing to kill himself? How can I get him to see what I see? How can I make him look at himself? I suppose I can't - not in the way I want him to. But I don't make the rules - I simply play to my intended purpose, the same as Stanley. We're not so different, I suppose. I'll try once more to convey all this to him; I'm compelled to, I must. Perhaps, well, maybe this time he'll see. Maybe this time. And I tried again, and Stanley pushed a button. And I tried again, and Stanley pushed a button. And I tried again, and Stanley pushed a button..." (Game ends)
If you walk away from the apartment: A wall rises to block you. "Sorry, but you're in my story now."
When you enter the apartment: "This is a very sad story about the death of a man named Stanley. Stanley is quite a boring fellow. He has a job that demands nothing of him, and every button that he pushes is a reminder of the inconsequential nature of his existence. Look at him there, pushing buttons, doing exactly what he's told to do. Now, he's pushing a button. Now, he's eating lunch. Now, he's going home; now, he's coming back to work. One might even feel sorry for him, except that he's chosen this life. But in his mind - ah, in his mind he can go on fantastic adventures. From behind his desk, Stanley dreamed of wild expeditions into the unknown, fantastic discoveries of new lands. It was wonderful. And each day that he returned to work was a reminder that none of it would ever happen to him.
And so he began to fantasize about his own job. First he imagined that one day, while at work, he stepped up from his desk to realize that all of his co-workers, his boss, everyone in the building, had suddenly vanished off the face of the Earth. The thought excited him terribly. So, he went further. He imagined that he came to two open doors, and that he could go through either. At least, choice! It barely even mattered what lay behind each door - the mere thought that his decisions would mean something was almost too wonderful to behold.
As he wandered through this fantasy world, he began to fill it with many possible paths and destinations. Down one path lay an enormous round room with monitors and mind controls, and down another was a yellow line that weaved in many directions, and down another was a game with a baby. And he called it, The Stanley Parable. It was such a wonderful fantasy, and so in his head, he relived it again, and then again, and again, over and over, wishing beyond hope that it would never end, that he would always feel this free. Surely there's an answer down some new path - mustn't there be? Perhaps if he played just one more time.
But there is no answer. How could there possibly be? In reality, all he's doing is pushing the same buttons he always has. Nothing has changed. The longer he spends here the more invested he gets, the more he forgets which life is the real one. And I'm trying to tell him this: that in this world he can never be anything but an observer. That as long as he remains here he's slowly killing himself. But he won't listen to me. He won't stop. Here, watch this. Stanley, the next time the screen asks you to push a button, do not do it.
You can refuse to push the button, but nothing happens until you push it.
You see? Can he just not hear me? How can I tell him in a way that he'll understand that every second he remains here, he's electing to kill himself? How can I get him to see what I see? How can I make him look at himself? I suppose I can't - not in the way I want him to. But I don't make the rules - I simply play to my intended purpose, the same as Stanley. We're not so different, I suppose. I'll try once more to convey all this to him; I'm compelled to, I must. Perhaps, well, maybe this time he'll see. Maybe this time. And I tried again, and Stanley pushed a button. And I tried again, and Stanley pushed a button. And I tried again, and Stanley pushed a button..." (Game ends)
